


There's No Shortcut To The Heart

by Kabochan



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Add tags as I go, Angst, Avengers are Firefighters, Depression, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Healing, Insecure Wade Wilson, Loss, M/M, Minor Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Psychologist Bruce Banner, Scientist Peter, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, The Avengers Are Good Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabochan/pseuds/Kabochan
Summary: This is the story of how Peter Parker faces the loss of the last member of his family and finds love on his way out of grief.In which the only superpower going on it's the awesomeness of every single character in their own way :)





	1. Family and Fate

Peter found himself biting his lower lip, anxiously squeezing his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

\- May. May Parker – he repeated for the what seemed to be the 100th time – can I see her now?

The lady behind the counter just stared at him half annoyed, half bored and dragged herself across the room, taking her sweet time to go over a mountain of papers and lazily pick a sheet on the pile, scribble something on it and take another eternity to drag herself back to the counter and hand him said paper.

It took all of Peter’s patience to not just go over there himself and do all of that himself. But of course, his aunt taught him better and he just stood there with a shaky smile and balled fists inside his pocket.

\- Sign here, stick this where I can see and get outta there before visit’s time is over…

By the time her monotonous voice said the last words Peter was already half way across the room passing through the metal doors with his name sticked on his chest in a mess of handwritten letters.

He half jogged, looking for the room mentioned in the paper and just tried to control his uneasiness towards the characteristic hospital-smell and lifeless cold lights on the blank corridor.

When he got to the room 42 he clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath before grabbing the handle and entering the room.

She was resting peacefully on the hospital bed, eyes closed and safely tucked under a thin blanket. Anybody would’ve thought she was sleeping, but Peter knew better, she still wore her glasses and he knew she would never fall asleep wearing them.

\- Aunt May? – he tried to muster all he had to not sound like a pathetic little kid.

She opened her eyes and flashed him a smile – he let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in relief, a little bit of tension leaving his shoulders.

She welcomed him, with a happy, enthusiastic voice:

\- Peter! – and then she realized the time and her tone changed to disaproving – Peter…

\- I know you said it was nothing, but I couldn’t help myself! – he quickly said while sitting beside her and grabbing her hand. He knew she would scold him for visiting her during work hours, but as soon as he received the call he was out of the building rushing to the hospital.

She sighed, but the smile was back, now he realized it was a rather exhausted smile.

\- I’m okay dear, it was just a little thing because of the medicine working out – she squeezed his hand back and his concerns grew bigger when he realized how weak it felt.

They held the position for a while in a pleasant silence, ignoring for a moment the annoying hospital beeps and background chatter.

Peter took this short time to recompose himself and allow his mind to calm down, repeating over and over “she Is ok, she is alright, everything is fine”.

But the blunt truth was: Aunt May wasn’t ok, she was everything but alright and nothing would be fine. After years working as a nurse Peter developed this weird idea that no disease would ever bring her down. She’d never get sick and always wore a bright strong smile.

But in the end she was only human and Peter realized it in the worst way.

When she told him about the cancer it was like the world split in two and swallowed him whole - _again_.

She passed out one day during her shift in the hospital – ironically – and after the pain was clearly not going away a fellow doctor decided to run some routine exams, after some results came altered more exams were requested and in the end of the day she received the diagnosis, still, she kept it from Peter for almost a month. Just because she knew his work was especially busy around that time she held the truth back for a while.

After that all changed. Aunt May tried to work a bit more, but Peter and the doctors managed to convince the stubborn woman to stop working, a bit of reasoning and convincing later and he moved back home to properly take care of her, although work still consumed most of his day.

\- Peter?

He came back to the present and felt her fingers touching the place between his eyebrows. – Sorry – he apologized smiling warmly.

That was a costume shared between her and uncle Ben. Ever since Peter was a kid and got upset he would furrow his brows deeply, then one of them would approach him and tell him to smile and stop pulling an ugly mug, rubbing his furrowed brow lightly.

\- Today I met someone really interesting! – she cheerfully started.

Peter knew how much aunt May liked people, her profession wasn’t an arbitrary choice after all, besides her natural inclination to aid others, she had a fascination with people in general. Often she came home with interesting stories about patients she met at work. Somehow the woman had this weird power to just make people open up and spill all of their lives in front of her. He remembered clearly how scary that skill was when he was a teenager and trouble was his middle name.

\- So this curious man helped me get here, oh Peter, he was so interesting! He had the strangest ideas I ever heard, I never met someone who could talk so much and at the same time tell so little about himself – she was smiling ear to ear and Peter couldn’t held back the warm feeling that spread through his chest.

\- Is that so? Sounds like a politician to me – he said while petting her hand.

\- Oh, that’s one thing I’m one hundred percent sure he is _not_ – she said giggling lightly and added soflty – he hates hospitals and doctors almost as much as you do.

\- Sounds like a reasonable person then – he said laughing.

After that they fell into the usual chat. His job as a low assitant at Stark Industries was hard work, but way more rewarding than his freelance thing at the Bugle, in order to afford the medical bills Peter did both, he knew he had to take all the chances he could.

Aunt May was released shortly after, the doctor assured Peter it was just the colateral effect of the medicine that hit in the middle of chemoterapy, just like she told him.

Soon they were home, he tucked her in bed, leaving water, tissues and a bucket beside the bed, knowing the nausea and pain that would surelly follow after the session, as it always happened.

Tired, Peter threw himself on the couch, the tv on while his eyes stared at no point at all.

He felt suffocated by his rage towards the world, god and destiny. Why was life so unfair? Tears rolled silently down his face, he’d learned a long time ago how to cry soundlessly, never wanting to burden his aunt or uncle with his own frustrations.

Hadn’t _she_ suffered enough? Why _her_ of all the people would have to go through more shitty things in life?

Peter wished he was the one with cancer, he would gladly take all the pain and suffering, at least he knew he deserved it.

The tears rolled down more intensely now, bitter memories and shadows from the past fuelling his sobs in the middle of the night.

And he swore nobody would witness his miserable moments of weakness.


	2. Tears and Flowers

It had been two months, only two months and things changed so quickly that Peter still felt a little bit light-headed when he thought about his current life.

He was in front of the door, staring at the number in silence, 42 again, wondering what the world was trying to tell him with this number.

He sucked in the air forcefully, rubbing his eyes, trying to get himself together.

In one swift motion he opened the door. This time there wasn’t any peaceful sleeping, sweet smile or calming atmosphere.

The room was quiet, awfully quiet to Peter. Aunt May lay on bed, glasses off, little tubes on her nose and hospital gown in place.

He stood quietly by her side, catching one of her hands between his as usual, rubbing them together carefully, she was cold, too cold.

He felt her hand grip his a little bit, just a touch of feather.

\- Aunt May? – he whispered, even he could hear the terror and desperation in his voice.

But she didn’t answer, eyes shut and dreadful silence kept filling the room.

He couldn’t stand how tiny and fragile she looked now, her hollowed cheeks and eyes showed how much she lost weight, a beany hat to warm her head and cover the lack of hair – she absolutely refused to wear a wig, and if it wasn’t so cold, she’d definetely display her bald head with proud – but it wasn’t only her appearance that changed.

Aunt May was always a strong person, full of energy, ready to whatever life throwed her way. Now it seemed cancer was sucking this exact energy of her, she still smiled, she still liked to talk and meet people and she still was essentially the aunt May he knew.

Except she was also another aunt May, a person whose body was fighting every single second to be alive, she spent most of her time resting or struggling to do regular things, simple things like going to the bathroom were a complex task, eating was also challenge, since most of the time she also felt very nauseated.

Long story short: she was too busy trying to _live_ to be herself.

Apparently the one thing that had better chances of curing cancer was also the thing that fucked up your entire system.

Peter flinched when he felt something warm dropping on his hand, looking closely he realised it was a tear, he rubbed his eyes feeling startled, not realizing he was crying.

How embarassing, if aunt May were to wake up now it would be a disaster, he knew how she’d fuss over him, trying to soothe his nerves when he was the one who should be doing that.

\- I’m here – he whispered again, his voice hoarse from the rock blocking his throat – I’m here aunt May.

He kept whispering things to her, telling her how was his day at work, how Jameson still was an asshole, but taking photos made it worth it, how he caught a glance of Mr. Stark while working in the labs, how he was keeping the house in order since she came to the hospital without a check out date and how their neighboors and old friends wished her well.

When it was almost time to go, he noticed a bouquet of flowers sitting beside her bed. Intriged he took the card stuck between the flowers and read “Don’t forget the tacos. Wade”

He remembered aunt May telling him about this guy, apparently they became friends, “cancer friends” as she put it laughing, he seemed to come regularly but they never met, Peter almost always came in the evening, while aunt May told him the guy – Wade – always came in the morning.

He put the card in a way that aunt May would be able to read even laying in bed, said his goodbyes to her, kissed her hand and went home.

He spent the night trying to figure out how much he would manage to squeeze from his current income to afford the medical bills, he didn’t want to take a third job, not because of exhaustion or whatever, but because he wanted to keep visiting aunt May on a regular basis, not only for her but because he couldn’t stand the thought of going a day without seeing her with his own eyes.

Despite his concerns, when he was slipping into bed he caught himself thinking about the card and the whole tacos thing with aunt May’s friend, he’d have to ask her next time he visited, it was probably an inside joke between them.

If he learned one thing about the guy is that he was a speciallist in making his aunt laugh, something even he himself had trouble to do nowadays.

On the verge of sleeping he made a mental note to buy him something as a proper thank you for him.


	3. Cake and Love

Music filled the house as Peter washed the dishes.

He could hear aunt May humming on the couch and his heart melt in his chest.

It had been three days since she was discharged, after things were looking so bad, somehow she got better and better. He suspected at first she was putting on a show because his birthday was coming, but it showed on her face and body how things were really getting better.

He could swear that if the medical staff didn’t let her go she would run out of the hospital by herself.

Finishing, he dried his hands and moved to the living room, welcoming the sight of his aunt comfortably sitting on her usual place in the couch absentmindedly typing on her cellphone.

Yes, _aunt May_ with a _cellphone_ , a smartphone on top of that!

She sheepishly said Wade had given her one day and Peter gaped, not knowing how to even react at this.

When he asked why he gave her a fricking phone she said he wanted to keep chatting and cards and flowers were a rather one sided way of comunicating.

He kinda understood, since at that time aunt May was still on sleep-eat-survive mode and almost never they would catch her awake. Still, it was an unusual thing.

He wondered what took the guy to make his aunt accept the gift, he knew how stubborn she could be, he learned early on his life that she only accepted gifts on her birthday, any other day of the year he’d hear lots of disapproving “oh Peter you shouldn’t have!”.

\- How are things with Wade? – he asked while dropping besides her on the couch.

\- He’s fine, he just sent me some cute pandas – she said giggling, eyes still stuck on the phone.

He raised one eyebrow, he crossed his arms and made the you-are-in-trouble voice:

\- Should I ask him to come over and ask what are his intentions with my aunt?

This time he caught her full attention.

\- Peter! He’s just a friend! – she laughed.

\- Yeah, right – he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

\- Actually I was wondering if _I_ should ask him what are his intentions with my nephew – she said smiling like a fox.

\- What? – he asked sharply, stunned.

\- Ever since I sent him a photo of you he seemed _very_ interested – she said while showing him a photo of himself with a goofy smile looking straight to the camera.

\- Aunt May! – he exclamed, feeling his face heat up.

\- What? I think it’s time for you to have someone special again – she said knowingly.

\- There’s no need for you to be concerned with my love life – he grumbled, still feeling his cheeks on fire.

\- I know it’s been a while, but Wade is great guy, I think you two would suit each other very well – she said smilling sweetly.

Peter buffed and was about to change topics when she added casually:

\- Besides, I know he is your type.

In horror he looked at her again, feeling the heat this time spread even to his ears.

\- Aunt May!

\- What?! Don’t think you fooled me with your thing for Flash Thompson on high school.

\- Oh my God! – not being able to take it anymore he fled to the kitchen while aunt May laughed hard on the couch.

Despite his embarassment he loved to finally have her home again, happy and best of all: laughing to her hearts content.

That night they ate his birthday cake and watched her favorite movie, he even let her take a picture of him and send it to Wade. It made her smile, although he felt very weird knowing now that the guy was interested on him, but he figured both of them were probably just teasing him.

They fell asleep on the couch while watching tv and Peter felt like this was the first time in ages since he had such a good night of sleep.


	4. Goodbyes And Sunny Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I know so far it's been mostly bits and pieces of angst, but this is a bit heavier, I explained a bit more on the end notes in case you prefer to know more before reading.

The world kept spiralling down like he was thrown in a bottomless hole in hell.

Peter kept his ground, fighting to stand straight while they lowered the coffin.

He felt nauseated, dizzy and lost. He was barely able to say his words, trembling like a child in front of the few friends and family, most were aunt May’s coworkers from her time as a nurse, some were neighboors who maintained a long friendship with the Parkers, others were Peter’s friends, Mary Jane and Harry, and that was it.

When they finished everything people started to say their goodbyes and slowly disperse.

Luckily he managed to keep his façade until MJ and Harry were gone. They insisted on taking him home or offered to stay with him, but he refused, claiming he needed some time alone.

It took some heavy convincing, but as soon as they were far away enough he dropped to the ground, hands joined as if he were praying, covering his nose and mouth.

His chest was heavy and his head was about to explode. No words could translate how he was feeling right now, he just felt it coming, like waves crashing down he felt the anger, frustration and desperation breaking on him.

Again he questioned the world, _why her?_ Of all people she was the one that deserved the least this kind of end.

After his birthday she spent a couple of days home and suddenly everything came back.

For two weeks both of them faced hell.

The doctors said that sometimes people got better before getting really really worse. They told stories of people suddenly recovering when promised they would be able to go home with their family just to pass away days after.

And that was no different with May Parker.

Apparently the one last thing that made her go on was Peter’s birthday, she probably told herself she would _not_ ruin his 24th birthday. Soon after she only got worse and quickly withered away.

On that last day he remembered being with her, listening her ragged breathing, the sounds of the machines that usually annoyed the hell out of him seemed distant and unfocused. He couldn’t get his eyes off of her, he felt in his gut that she wouldn’t survive that night.

Then she took a deep breath in one last time and everything slowed down until it completely stopped.

He would never forget how all of a sudden her pained expression turned into a very peaceful one, like all of her burdens were lifted. Right then he knew that she didn’t regret anything, that she was happy in the end. That soft expression meant more to him than any last words she could have musttered.

That was when he had said goodbye to her, when he’d realized she was trully gone.

After that he didn’t know how he managed to get the ceremony prepared and everything done. Sure, some friends helped, but in general if someone asked him how he spent the last couple of days, he’d be unable to tell them what exactly he did or when and how he did it.

He looked up to the sky feeling numb, taking a deep breath between hiccups, it was a cold sunny day, no clouds on sight.

He guessed rainy gray cemeteries were a thing exclusive for movies and funerals were a day like any other day in the world.

He was pulled away from his half hazzed thoughts when something buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it and stared at it for what felt like minutes, hours, his slow stunned mind trying to figure it out like a complicated puzzle. Then it buzzed again, litting up.

The cellphone. Wade’s cellphone.

He snapped back to reality, he realized Wade probably didn’t know what happened, aunt May got to the hospital and everything went so fast that both of them completely forgot the cellphone. He remembered putting in his pocket earlier that day thinking he could give it back to his aunt’s friend when they met on the ceremony.

Except there was no way Wade knew about it, they stopped texting each other when aunt May went back to the hospital, the last he heard of her she was in perfect condition, at home enjoying a good pizza with her nephew.

Oh God.

He would have to tell him.

Breathing sharply he unlocked the phone and looked at the messages.

There were literally a thousand messages there. He scrolled through their conversation, god, the man had sent something every day, the tone of his messages getting increasingly worried, just now he sent another “Please answer, are you ok?”

He read it over and over again, desperately trying to figure out what to say or how to say or even if he should say anything at all.

For a moment he considered throwing the phone on the nearest trash can, hoping to avoid it forever.

He stared at the phone with an increasing uneasiness.

No, the guy deserved some explanation, he was her friend, he sent her flowers, he gave her a phone, they exchanged memes for God’s sake, he had earned his right to know, no matter how painful it would be for Peter to break him the news.

On a whim, before he could chicken out, he decided to call Wade, waiting for his reply would be excruciating if he just sent a message.

It rang only twice before a worried voice answered:

\- May?

Peter shivered, trying to hold himself together, he cleared his throat, just to be sure his voice wouldn’t tremble too much.

\- No, uh… sorry, this is Peter, May’s nephew, I… I called to say… - he trailed off not knowing how to continue in a not painful way. He struggled for a few moments, panicking he forced himself to just _breathe_. God, he sucked at this.

\- … Where was the ceremony? – a quiet voice asked after a while.

Apparently Wade got the message.

After a moment opening and closing his mouth like a stupid fish, Peter told him the address and explained how to get to the… grave.

\- Are you still there? – he could hear background sound of movement, keys, clothes shuffling.

\- Yeah - he answered absentmindedly, looking at her name beautifully written on stone.

\- Will you stay there? – door closing, street sounds.

\- Yeah… - he whispered to the phone, feeling the tears coming back again and dread fill his chest again.

\- I’ll be there in a sec – engine car and then nothing.

Peter crouched in the ground, letting himself fall in the void again, knowing that he had to stop again soon if he were to talk to his aunt’s friend and tell him all about what happened.

He shuddered just thinking how in the name of heavens he would be able to explain how the whole happened to this man and step again on those hard moments he lived these past weeks. But he would have to do it if he was asked. He wasn’t a man of faith, but he prayed that Wade didn’t ask anything or else he would definitely crumble patheticaly in front of a stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter is not in a good mind space, he's facing the shock of loss and it's not pretty. Beware if you're sensitive to this kind of thing.


	5. The Call

He knew something was wrong as soon as she didn’t answer that first message.

He told himself she must have been busy, coming back home after a while was exciting after all, she would want to spend good quality time with her nephew and catch up with friends. But his worries just got worse over the days.

May wasn’t the type of person to let silence stretch too long, he wasn’t that type of person either, maybe that’s why they got along so well in the first place.

His heart just got heavier as days passed by and no news from his cancer buddy flashed on his phone.

It probably showed in his face, since it was the second time that day Logan asked if he was ok. The man liked to act as if he didn’t care about anything, but Wade knew it was all just bark, no bite.

Of course, his teasings didn’t help to made the hairy man come out of his shell.

\- Oown, is Wolvie worried about me? – he cooed with a goofy grin, hands on his heart.

He received a growl and a warning look in answer.

\- I know that in bestial language means “I love you” – he then sent a kiss flying – Love you too wolvie!

\- Still no answer from your friend? – Steve intervened before Logan could smash his fist on his face, the way that most of Wade and Logan’s interactions always ended.

\- There’s nothing to worry about Cap, we cancer buddies have to be understanding with each other, we never know when chemo bitch is going to strike – he said lightly, hoping his smile would hide how much he was freaking out over almost two weeks of silence.

How would you expect him to react? He had grown fond of the woman ever since he had helped her get some help on the clinic. It wasn’t every day he found someone who would not only treat him normally but also appreciate his sense of humor.

He opened their conversation for the tenth time that day, seeing that she had indeed received his messages, but hadn’t seen or replied any.

He started to chew his nails nervously, typing quickly a second message, in the hopes she would answer this time, but somehow knowing she wouldn’t.

\- C’mon May… - he whispered to himself as he stared at the screen, waiting for something, anything – just a message, please.

As minutes went by he noticed the room was awfully quiet.

Looking around he realized Logan and Steve were staring at him with concerned faces.

\- … Did the voices come back? – Steve asked after a brief pause.

He looked up a little bit surprised.

They knew Wade for a long time now, it had been years since he joined them at this station and it’s hard to not open up to people you work together, especially if the work involves risking your life together while trying to extinguish flames and rescuing people from houses transformed into deadly flaming traps.

The entire team was aware of Wade’s problems, hell, they knew his problems had problems. But after a bumpy start they realized he, as anybody else there, was there to help and do his job, and they would be lying if they said they didn’t see him trying.

After that most of the team left him alone. Some were closer to him than others, Steve, Logan and Clint were the closest ones. And they were the ones who saw him in his best and worst moments.

\- No, I was really just talking to myself – he answered after a while, smiling a little bit.

Logan grimaced as if he had smelled something terrible.

\- What?! Tell me you’ve never talked to yourself? It’s perfectly normal and healthy! – Wade said with exasperation. He knew it was hard to accept that a former lunatic was just talking to himself, but he had earned some credit, it had been almost five years since any incident.

\- He barely talks to _us_ , do you think he would understand the concept of talking to _himself_? – Clint said sarcastically while entering the room.

Before Logan could growl – again – a ringtone filled the room, making Wade flinch a little bit.

The four of them exchanged glances, it took one more ring to Wade snap out of his surprise and answer, more preoccupation seeping into his voice than he intended:

\- May?

After a beat of his heart, an unknown voice answered slowly:

\- No, uh… Sorry, this is Peter - May’s nephew - I… I called to say… - Wade inhaled sharply, sirens ringing loudly inside his head.

_No_.

It had been a while since life had smacked him in the face like that. Sure, May was facing leukemia, but Wade knew she recently had gotten better, everything was going fine… wasn’t it?

Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder. Steve was giving him a concerned look, “is everything ok?” he whispered very quietly.

Realizing that probably a long time had passed, he focused on the call again.

\- … Where was the ceremony?

His friends exchanged another concerned look.

Peter told him the address and how to get to him. He realized the kid sounded terrible, he had definitely been crying – a lot. Wade didn’t expect less, from what May told him both of them were all the other had. No other relatives remaining.

\- Are you still there? – he asked while quickly getting up, getting his keys from his locker and putting on a coat. He was about to end his shift anyway, Steve just signaled for him to go, still wearing a frown.

\- Yeah – The voice seemed to be fading, which panicked Wade a little bit. He couldn’t bear imagining the sweet kid in the photos alone in a depressing cemetery.

The others were still looking at him with worried expressions. He mouthed a “see you later” and went out.

\- Will you still stay there? – he closed the back door from the fire station and reached the parking lot, almost jogging to his car.

\- Yeah… - he shivered when he heard all but a weak, dark whisper.

For some reason he feared when he got there Peter would be nothing but spirit or bones.

\- I’ll be there in a sec – he started the engine, closed the door and went as fast as he could.


	6. The Boy

Wade was sure he got a speed ticket, but he couldn’t care less as he hurried, following Peter’s instructions through the graves until he saw a solitary figure crouching on the grass.

He gulped, replaying in his head all the talks he had with May, how her expression lit up when she talked about her nephew. You had to blind to not see that the kid was like a son to her.

With a heavy heart, he caught his breath, forcing himself to take slower, careful steps.

Wade had lost a lot of people in his life, people he cared about, people he didn’t care about and people he didn’t know he cared about until they actually passed away.

He could understand at least a little bit how painful it must have been for Peter.

May Parker had been a part of his recent life and she had already managed to change a lot of Wade’s world. In comparison, Peter _lived_ with this woman, he was raised by her. In Wade’s opinion if someone in this world was suited to be a mother, that was definitely May Parker.

Now really close to the crouched form, he waited a while to let the other acknowledge him, giving the other time to compose himself, but minutes passed and Peter made no movement, noise, or in fact gave any indication that he was alive, besides the quiet sobbing.

Wade realized the kid probably didn’t even notice him there.

Not wanting to disturb him too much, Wade cleaned his throat lightly.

Despite his effort Peter flinched hard and lost his balanced crouched position.

Feeling a little bit embarrassed and guilty he broke the silence awkwardly:

\- Sorry, I’ve been here for a little while, didn’t want to disturb you – he said sheepishly, hands fidgeting inside his pockets.

When Peter properly turned and got up Wade almost gaped.

He knew the kid was handsome by the pictures, but seeing it live was a whole another deal.

Everything in his stance was attractive, crouched like that, he thought Peter was shorter, but in truth he was only a couple of inches shorter than Wade, boyish face and gorgeous lips. But something in his eyes said he lived enough to see some shit. Unruly brown hair to match stormy hazel eyes.

Oh God.

His chest managed to stop for a second and then pump like crazy.

He just wanted to hug the hell outta the kid and take all his pain away.

After a moment of silence though, he suddenly felt very self conscious, these were the times when he felt the weight of his scars drag him down, he thought, sighing internally.

Not letting the dark thoughts completely take over, he said while he still had the courage:

\- I’m Wade – he managed without stuttering and extending his hand in a – hopefully – not awkward way.

Peter stood there for a moment, a little bit shocked to say anything for some seconds, but before Wade could determine if it was a normal shocked or a disgusted shocked, Peter blinked and there was only sadness again.

\- Peter – he said hoarsely, taking his hand.

He shook his hand back and both of them turned to the grave of one of the most remarkable woman they would ever meet.

\- I’m sorry I didn’t contact you earlier – the kid whispered bitterly, eyes lost in the ground.

\- It’s ok, I should’ve called, I thought everything was… Fine – he answered, lowering a bouquet of flowers he managed to buy on the entrance of the cemetery.

Wade took his moment to crouch near the grave, with eyes closed, he mentally wished good things for May, thanked her for all the good things she brought to his life and remembered their brief moments together.

He wasn’t religious, but that was a thing he always did when he lost someone, it felt the right thing to do, so he kept the costume.

When he stood up again, Peter asked all of a sudden:

\- What was the thing about tacos?

Wade looked at him, surprised.

\- She never told me, said it was a thing exclusive for… Cancer buddies – he explained himself a little flustered.

Wade smiled and instead asked:

\- Did she ever told you how we met?

Peter frowned, looking away pensive. It was just some months back, but it seemed like years since she told him.

\- Something about you helping her? – he answered uncertain, he could only remember the bouquet and the tacos thing.

Wade took a deep breath, a faint smile never leaving his face.

\- I was leaving the clinic, had to do some exams to see if cancer bitch came back or if I was finally free, your aunt was one of the only ones doing chemo on the room, I saw she was pale as a ghost and although she was pressing the button to call the nurses, it didn’t seem to be working. I went to her, screamed for help and told her to not pass out or else she owned me some tacos.

Peter looked at him in wonder. Wade knew the kid wasn’t in condition to laugh, but some of the fog in his eyes seemed to clean away, so he kept going, glad to be a distraction from his pain.

\- Of course she passed out, they called an ambulance, I worried for her, she was by herself, so I asked which hospital they were taking her and followed, when I got there she was ok already and when I entered the room she screamed “you’re the taco guy!”- laughing lightly, he could still remember her stunned expression – we ended up spending some time chatting, the taco became a thing and we just kept it on…

Wade trailed off, somehow talking about the first time you meet a friend while said friend isn’t there anymore made you all emotional and blue inside.

He blinked a few times, the corners of his mouth curving downwards, he sniffed a little bit, and was about to say something stupid about the weather when he saw Peter’s face covered in silent tears.

\- Oh my God Peter, I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t intend to make you...  Shit! - he coursed loudly as he moved his hands around the kid, not knowing if he should or shouldn’t touch him, or what or how to say to him.

Peter quickly rubbed his eyes, using his already ruined jacket to clean his eyes and nose.

\- No, it’s ok – he said with a broken voice – it wasn’t your fault. I was just-just getting it out. I-It’s ok now.

Although he said that, the tears didn’t show any indication they would stop.

Soon he was hiccupping and sobbing nonstop. Hands hiding his face, breath so irregular it was painful to listen to.

Wade felt his heart clench painfully. He knew so many stories about this kid, aunt May’s adoration somehow slipped into Wade and he came to care for Peter, the fact that he was one the cutest guys he had ever set his eyes on also helped his interest, but above all he felt compelled to just do something to help him.

With his hands completely still in the air, hovering weirdly around Peter sides, he asked uncertain:

\- Can I… Hug you? – he gulped, ready for the rejection, because what would be weirder than hugging a scarred stranger, right?

_Right?_

Oh God, what was he doing? Offering to hug someone he had just met? Was it too late to take it ba-

Peter nodded in a silent yes.

Apparently the whole thing wasn’t that weird to Peter Parker.

Still feeling awkward, Wade stepped close and slowly put his hands around the lithe body in jerky movements. As soon as he felt how cold Peter’s body was, he pressed their bodies closer, feeling alarmed, forgetting instantly previous embarrassment.

\- Jesus, how long have you been out here? – he whispered, while moving his hands up and down Peter’s back, trying to warm him up.

After long, painful minutes of quiet sobbing, Peter started to melt slowly in his arms, his sobbing somewhat slowing down and his breathing getting steady again, but the trembling nowhere near stopping.

\- I’m sorry – he said in a muffled voice, his face still buried in Wade’s shoulder.

\- Shhh it’s ok baby boy – Wade said lowly, not realizing the nickname, he kept rambling comforting things, never letting the silence hang for too long, rubbing soothing hands on Peter’s back.

After a while Peter calmed down enough to feel exhausted and sleepy in Wade’s arms.

\- Do you want a ride home? – Wade whispered on his ear, in a low concerned voice.

Peter shivered again, Wade rubbed his back a little more, but Peter suspected the shiver had absolutely nothing to do with the cold wind.

\- Uh… Sure… - He answered, voice nasal and completely ruined.

They slowly let go from each other and Wade never thought he would think bloodshot hazel eyes, pink cheeks and snot so cute in his life.

Peter grimaced and said in a grumble:

\- Sorry about your jacket – Wade didn’t need to look to know a good part of his jacket was wet and covered in tears and snot.

\- That’s ok, you owe me a new one – he replied with a sly grin.

Peter shot an eyebrow up, entertainment dancing in his eyes, but not properly getting out given his current state of mind.

\- Is that how you make friends? Making them owe you stuff?

\- Well, it worked with you aunt didn’t it? – he said smiling, one second later realizing he probably shouldn’t have brought his aunt so soon.

He looked warily at Peter’s reaction, but he just stared at her grave with a puzzled look.

\- Yeah, it did.


	7. Home and Tacos

It had been nearly an hour since Wade had dropped him in front of his house, an hour since Peter dropped himself on the couch and started to stare into the ceiling in silence.

If he was Superman there would definitely be a giant whole leading to the sky in his roof.

His mind was still filled with aunt May and the hole her existence created when she stopped breathing. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her last breath, how she inhaled so deeply and Peter was left praying to hear she breath out again.

But the sound never came.

He opened his eyes, feeling numb and weird, like his body and his mind were different things and were now slightly out of tune, detached from each other.

He closed his hands and opened them again, trying to make the sensation go away.

It didn’t.

He tried to get up, but as soon as he did his head felt heavy and something buzzed in his ears. The dizziness took over and for some moments he could see dark spots everywhere.

When was the last time he had eaten?

Trying to get up again, this time careful to not make the room spin, he tried to recall the blurry memories of the past few days. Again, he knew what he had done, but couldn’t make out exactly _how_ he got everything done.

That was so annoying, he hated this feeling of hopelessness, chaos and numbness.

He rubbed his face hard, turned the tv on and looked at it letting his mind wander in the dark.

What was he supposed to do now?

Besides the hole aunt May left in his life, there were a lot of questions that came with her absence.

Should he keep working at the Daily Bugle? Last time he thought about it, he felt the pictures kinda helped him cope with everything, but now the mere thought of getting up, grabbing a camera and going wherever Jameson felt like sending him seemed an impossible task, too much of a hassle to deal with.

What about the job at Stark Industries? He genuinely liked his work there, although it was hard, not that well paid, it was still work.

Talking about work, he checked the day on his cellphone, he had a couple days free, at Stark labs at least, he had luck he even got two days on the Bugle, he would have to go back to work tomorrow on the newspaper. Jameson had been impossible to convince, but his coworkers knew what he was going through and pressed the boss to just let him go yesterday and the day before – the day his aunt passed away.

He snapped back to reality when the tv displayed something that caught his attention.

Tacos.

His stomach grumbled in response, begging for anything edible.

Peter stared at the tv, remembering a certain guy.

He still felt the embarrassment take over when he remembered how he had pathetically cried in front of Wade. He literally _sobbed_ all over his jacket.

Growling, feeling his face heat up, he stood up and tried to let the awkward moment go away.

He grabbed the phone and started to walk around aimlessly while ordering a bunch of Mexican food.

Ironically aunt May wasn’t much of fan of Mexican, so they rarely ordered it. She probably never told Wade about it.

And there we go back to Wade.

Before he could stop himself, he relived the hug. He felt his shoulders drop a little, a little bit of tension leaving his body when he remembered how Wade hugged him tightly. So warm and comfy.

Wade wasn’t what he expected him to be.

When he turned around, he thought he would see a middle-aged guy, a funny moustache and healthy rounded belly. He didn’t know where the hell he got that image from, maybe he was trying to create someone that he thought would fit aunt May, after all he did believe they were flirting with each other and she wasn’t telling him.

In his defense they did text each other way too much and too frequently for his taste.

To his surprise he couldn’t have been more wrong.

He thought she said Wade was interested on him on his birthday just to throw him off and mess with him, he didn’t expect Wade to be exactly what aunt May said: his type.

Sure, he felt shocked when saw the scars covering his face completely, hands and probably most of his body by the look of how they went down his neck. But he realized Wade had a different appearance when he asked to see a photo of him and aunt May made a face weeks ago.

He knew that face, it told him the subject was delicate and serious and she was thinking hard how to break it to him. She made that face when he was very young and he remembered it was one of the couple times he saw her face not wearing a sweet smile or a composed stance.

He didn’t get why she made the serious face while talking about a picture of his cancer buddy, but soon he came to the conclusion that Wade didn’t want to show himself and he had his reasons for it, maybe he had skin cancer and he knew skin cancer could show on someone’s face. So he just dropped it and never asked again.

He felt more stunned because of the clash of imaginary Wade against real Wade than the fact that the guy was covered in scars. He felt how the other man got tense when they met, like he was expecting Peter to throw a tomato on his face.

The truth was, he had never expected a tall, muscular guy with a sense of humor and a gentleman enough to be completely smooth about his jacket being soaked in snot after an emotional breakdown.

Peter sighed loudly.

Goddammit. Why did he keep coming back to the snot incident?

He probably should have taken the jacket with him and get it washed.

Before Peter’s mind could wander anywhere else though the bell rang.

Food, finally. His stomach made a noise in agreement and he proceeded to get his tacos, pay the guy and settle back on the couch.

Before he grabbed the first taco though, he realized he had gotten two plates and two glasses.

His mood sank again, he stuffed his food in the mouth, swallowing it absentmindedly, watching the tv with empty eyes and thinking about aunt May.


	8. The Parkers

\- I told you the damned thing didn’t need help getting off the tree! – He buffed angrily, while cleaning his newest wounds.

\- And I told you to pay attention and be out of its way – Clint replied, an amused grin spread all over his face – that thing was a beast, not a cat.

\- He was spacing out again, it’s the third time you make a dumb mistake this week – Steve observed, a little bit concerned.

Wade sighed. Not again.

\- Ohh right, he was spacing out, thinking about the secret lover – Clint teased, his amused expression shifting to a downright evil one.

\- Shut up – Wade grunted, wishing he had never brought it up.

\- Do I see Wade Wilson blushing like a maiden? – Clint kept teasing.

\- Drop it bird brain – he growled again, hissing when he cleaned the claw marks on his face.

\- Seriously though, who’s the lucky one? – Clint asked in a more regular tone, but the shit eating grin still plastered all over his face.

Wade sighed deeply again, he knew all that teasing had a reason. It had been fucking forever since anything interesting happened in his love life and Clint being a close friend, happily married, with plenty of time to gossip and fuss over others affairs, would definitely _not_ spare him of an interrogatory.

\- If I tell you about it, will you drop it? – he asked annoyed, while putting away the medical kit and moving to the table.

\- Sure, tell me all your adventures lover boy – Clint sat beside him, absentmindedly tapping on his phone.

\- It’s one sided, we don’t even know each other very well and so far I have no clue if he’s even into guys. There – he said while grabbing some boring paperwork to get it done – I said it.

Frowning, Clint looked up from his phone.

\- What? That’s not even enough – he complained, turning all his attention to him in an indignant face.

Wade felt his gaze on him, _the_ gaze, almost as if his eyes could literally poke his face.

\- Well, that’s all that there is, so _drop it_ – he grumbled, refusing to look back.

Steve said from the other side of the room:

\- Let it go Barton, if you keep it up he won’t tell you anything – but he also had a smug, amused expression.

\- Easy for you to say, he always ends up spilling everything to _you_ – he complained in an accusatory tone. But despite the bitterness, he turned his focus back to his phone, the tapping sounds filling the once again silent room.

With that break, Wade kept filling the report in an almost robotic way, letting his mind wander to Peter.

In truth, he felt anxious and very preoccupied when he thought of him, he still could recall how beaten up the kid looked when he dropped him in front of May’s house – he also felt very weird just getting to know her address now that she wasn’t among them anymore, it felt like a missed opportunity somehow.

The way he dragged himself, all his movements lethargic and slow were danger signs to Wade. He could only hope Peter had other people to help him get through this. It would be hard and painful, for sure, but after meeting in person, Wade was convinced Peter was stronger than he let on.

Talking about being hard and painful… He still had to get used to not texting May every day. He didn’t realize how often they talked before the messages stopped coming.

He also didn’t realize before how often he thought of her.

Every meme, cute thing or food he’d pin on pinterest, saw on 9gag or watched on the internet made he immediately think “May’s gonna love this!”, then he’d have to force himself to stop and remember what happened.

Then he’d feel crappy about it and try to distract himself scrolling down, in fact he distracted himself so well that he easily made the same mistake of selecting stuff to share with May a bunch of times before he finally decided he should detoxify from technology for a while.

Nevertheless, the whole thing caused him to be overly distracted, always thinking of one of the Parkers, worrying over the remaining, grieving the gone.

His team mates noticed of course, and Wade knew that somewhere behind their teasing, they were actually trying to help him. But despite short exchanges like the one that just happened, he just couldn’t focus for long on his daily life.

So the day went by with a silent Wade Wilson.

Which scared the hell out of the team, not only the closest ones, even the ones who weren’t exactly his fans asked Steve what was going on.

Wade didn’t see how Steve just shook his head in a slightly sad way, he also didn’t catch on how Clint and Logan exchanged worried gazes and he definitely didn’t hear they talking about him in terribly disguised whispers.

At the end of the day, Wade was surprised to find himself cornered by his friends while getting ready to go home.

He was in the middle of putting his jacket on, car keys in one hand and home sweet home in his mind.

\- We’re going out today – Clint stated in a resolute voice and firm eyes.

Wade opened his mouth to protest, he just wanted to go home, take a nice bath, eat some pizza and relax.

\- _We’re going out today_ – Clint repeated with a steeled voice before he could even get to say anything.

Still uncertain and stunned, Wade looked at Steve, the question clear in his eyes.

\- We’re going out today… - Steve said in a much less enforced way, almost apologetic.

Mouth wide open still, Wade stared at Logan in the corner, expecting a denial, a way out, even a little glimpse of hope.

When the man realized all eyes were on him, he just shook his head and said with a grumpy voice:

\- We’re going out today.

Uuugh… When Logan decided to join it was inevitable, the whole gang would go out.

\- Fine, we’re going out today… - he just accepted his defeat with sagged shoulders and dragged himself out with the others.

He knew his friends only wanted to help, but why the hell did they have to be so annoying?

He really just wanted to go home, relax a little and… Worry the hell out over Peter and eat a whole bucket of ice cream by himself trying to freeze his brain just to not feel depressed over May.

Clint looked awfully victorious, but Wade supposed a little bit of time with friends wouldn’t hurt, besides the rest of team also looked kinda relieved.

He may have been having some problems dealing with recent events, but what could he do? He tried to get his mind off the Parkers, but no good came from that. He tried throwing himself in his hobbies, but his mind just couldn’t focus.

He now held the worst record ever in the shooting range he usually goes, he burned his pancakes for the first time since he learned how to make them and he sported 3 perfect red lines on his face – a result of a traumatic meeting with a savage furry beast while thinking of internet cats and how he should’ve showed Maru and his boxes to May before she passed away.

He sighed, who was he lying to? He definitely needed a time-out.  
Seated on the back seat of Steve’s car, watching as daylight started to fade out and the city blooming with life, he felt a warm rush of gratefulness and peacefulness for having friends who cared enough to realize how bad he felt and even organize an intervention.

Suddenly life seemed a little bit lighter knowing he had people to count on.


	9. The Recovery

Life definitely wasn’t lighter and those bastards definitely didn’t lift any weight from his shoulders, actually they added more whenever they could.

Wade could feel his head exploding from the inside.

They gave him _hell_.

After arriving at the usual bar and a round of food and some beer it was clear why they were there.

Clint started to sneak more and more booze into his glass while he wasn’t paying attention. Steve was such a lightweight that on his second round he seemed to revert to a stupid teenager and soon enough Wade found himself in a challenge with him about who could chug faster.

Logan also didn’t help when he did absolutely nothing to stop Clint and just scoffed at his stupid coworkers giving themselves future hangovers.

After Steve was a useless pile of bones thrown over the table, Clint started his real master plan.

Wade was distractedly gazing into absolutely nothing while poking Steve’s defeated head, thoughts wandering to a certain friend and her nephew.

\- So, how’s life Wade? – Barton started while lazily pouring Wade one more glass.

Wade could definitely hold his liquor, but after who knows how many rounds even he would start to loosen up his tongue.

\- Life’s good I guess – he said in a suspicious tone.

But just because alcohol kicked in it didn’t mean he didn’t realize what was going on.

\- What about your professional life? – Clint asked still in an inconspicuous tone.

He didn’t like where this was going.

\- No complaints.

\- How’s your family? – that was bullshit, Clint knew Wade didn’t have any living relative.

\- Cut the crap Barton, what do you want? – he asked impatiently.

Clint raised his gaze finally letting out a guilty smile.

\- I suck at small talk, huh?

\- No shit – said Wade while drinking the rest of his beer. That was definitely the last one of the night.

\- Ok then, I just wanted to know for real how you’re dealing with the crappy stuff that happened recently.

Wade was almost touched at how serious Clint looked, if he wasn’t so buzzed with booze, he’d probably mock the man.

Stopping to think about it, that was probably why he had practically poured beer down his throat.

Frowning, Wade sighed.

\- I don’t know man, it’s pretty recent, so it’s still weird thinking she isn’t around anymore.

\- You two got pretty close over these past months – Clint commented, leaning closer.

\- I wish I had introduced her to the team, it didn’t seem important that time, but she’s just one those people who are so cool to talk to, the time just flies when we talk – he said with such a soft sad smile that Clint didn’t have the heart to correct Wade’s use of present tense.

\- I know you lost other people before, how are you holding up? – he said instead.

That made Wade reflect for moment, thinking about friends he lost in the war and even before that, friends he couldn’t even remember the name he lived in the streets with during his teenage times.

Then he came back to the present feeling more depressed.

\- I don’t know, after a while it just feels… Lonely.

\- You haf to stap thinkin bout the regrets…

Wade, Clint and even Logan got a little startled when Steve came back to life, slurring his advice in a drunken illuminated moment.

He turned his face a little, a solemn expression on his face, despite being completely wasted.

\- Why dontcha try rememberin only the good moment you had togetha? – despite how pathetic he sounded, his words made a lot of sense. At least to Wade’s drunk brain Steve’s advice sounded like gold.

\- Shit man, not even when you’re drunk you let me give Wade advices – Clint complained with a grimace.

Soon after, they left (as always Logan was the most unaffected by the amount of alcohol all of them had) so he drove them all home and crashed at Steve’s place – as usual, because Steve was always the most fucked up, incapable of even calling a cab.

When they left Wade at his apartment he could already feel his head pounding, the constant buzz humming in his head.

Ugh, he needed a good bath, lots of water and his bed.

While he filled the bathtub and undressed, his mind came back to Steve’s slurred words.

\- Think about the good stuff huh? – he said to no one in particular, mind spinning around the words.

He never thought about it that way before, as he got himself more and more sober he realized he did have the bad habit of thinking what he should or shouldn’t have done or said. Which was completely useless considering said people were gone and there was nothing he could do about those kind of stuff.

When he was safely tucked under the blankets he started to think about May and the fun moments they shared instead of the things he didn’t get to show her.

His mind was almost slipping to blissful awaited sleep, when his phone notification sound startled him awake.

\- God-fucking-damnit, who is it now? – he cursed while blindly reaching over his nightstand, trying to get his phone.

After knocking over a bunch of things he finally got the noisy thing.

He was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the screen and managed to bring it down with half squeezed eyes, all this while spewing an endless stream of curses, of course.

But as soon as he read who the fuck interrupted his almost-sleep, all grumpiness flew out of his body.

“ _Hey Wade, I just realized I’m still with your phone, when can we meet again so I can give it back?_ ”


	10. Friends and Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm here again to let you know this chapter will deal with heavier stuff again.  
> Further info at the end notes.

Peter spent the whole week working his ass off.

In the end he didn’t quit the Bugle, he still kept up with Jameson’s awful attitude and although it totally pissed him off - sometimes he felt like he could punch the guy in the face – he still didn’t feel prepared to let go.

The work on the lab went as usual, he managed to catch a glimpse of Mr. Stark again when he came back from his days off, but somehow it didn’t feel as exciting as before.

He guessed it was because he didn’t have aunt May to tell all about it, so he just acknowledged the man’s presence and continued his routine normally.

In the first few days, he finished everything so early that when he got home, he got so bored and so lonely that he thought he was going insane, he could feel the numbness physically suffocating him.

All his agenda had been carefully built around the fact that he wanted to leave earlier in order to spend good quality time with aunt May.

Now there wasn’t much need for all that extra free time, so he ended up changing his schedule and taking as much extra shifts as his supervisor would let him take.

After that, he still found that when he arrived home he still had enough energy to feel the void eating him from inside, so he started taking walks around the city after his shits at the labs to take some extra photos and put his mind somewhere else.

Taking photos and working on some Stark project. That was his life now. Anything he could do to avoid thinking about the hopelessness lurking inside his chest was welcomed.

After taking an unhuman amount of workload, he finally felt exhausted enough to be able to arrive home and feel nothing but tired, sleepy and hungry, which left no space at all to feel the numbness.

His day then proceeded to him flopping on the bed and getting up only in the morning, when he’d take a bath, have something for breakfast and leave even before the sun could rise.

All of that just to come back at night, when it was almost midnight.

If it was up to Peter, he’d have lived like this until exhaustion wore him out and he dropped dead while Jameson complained about some stupid detail, but to his disappointment his friends wouldn’t let him keep going like this.

One day, when he was leaving the labs to grab a hot dog for lunch, he met Mary Jane by chance.

She made an absolute scene when she saw his state. He flushed bright red when she pointed out how skinny, tired and just an absolute mess he looked. Peter was reluctant, but under her thorough interrogatory he told her all about his insane amount of work and how he started to take photos aside from his assignments at the Bugle.

At the end of their talk she, had already made him promise to slow down and take at least one thing off his crazy routine.

He could just brush it off as her overreacting, but Peter knew better than to ignore his closest friend’s advice.

So from that day on, he reluctantly tried to avoid taking too many extra shifts – but he still found himself wrapping things up when there wasn’t anybody else around occasionally – and he also forced himself to go directly home and not wander around with his faithful camera in his backpack – but he also went out more days than not.

Truth was, although he was trying, apparently Peter Parker was terrible at taking care of himself, which wasn’t really breaking news.

Since his life after leaving aunt May’s house had never been the same, not as comfy and cozy as she made it be, but he supposed that’s what it felt for everybody when they compared their first shitty apartment with their childhood home.

Peter sighed, he had just come back after not doing extra lab time and found he had left the stove on. The house stank so much and thank God nothing had exploded, he guessed it was also good he forgot to close the kitchen windows, otherwise he might as well have arrived to a completely burned house.

He was resting on the couch, wondering what he should get for dinner today.

He’d taken a liking to Mexican and he liked to pretend it didn’t have anything to do with the fact it was one of the only kinds of food that didn’t make him remember aunt May instantly or that it didn’t have absolutely no relation to a certain gentle, funny guy he’d met recently.

The bell door rang, startling him out of his thoughts and he asked himself if he somehow had managed to telepathically order his tacos.

\- Hey Peter – Harry waved and smiled nervously at his front door.

\- Harry! Come on in – he said while side hugging his friend.

As time went by, Harry’s life became so busy he hardly ever had time to hang out with his friends – his actual long-term friends, not the usual I-want-status-and-money friends.

\- I was about to order some food, would you like some? – he said in a well-practiced light tone.

But Harry was standing like a statue on his living room, his body paralyzed right when he was about to take his coat off.

\- Are you ok Harry? – Peter asked frowning.

The younger Osborn slowly turned to him, his arms still awkwardly tangled on his coat.

\- Peter… Why does the house smell like gas?

It took a moment to Harry’s question sink in. But by his freaked out look and strangled voice Peter could quickly deduce what he was thinking.

\- What? No no no, that’s not what it looks like! – he said with a panicked tone.

Harry stared at him suspiciously and still freaked out. Of course, he’d choose exactly the same words someone guilty would say in a similar situation.

\- Seriously Harry, I swear I just forgot to turn off the stove!

After a brief battle of stare, Harry sighed deeply and finally took off his coat – albeit hesitantly.

\- MJ called me this week, you know? She was also pretty concerned about you.

Peter sat on the couch, he felt guilty after hearing how his friends worried about him.

\- Yeah, I met her and we talked for a little while, I heard she’s getting more jobs, things are finally looking up to h- – he tried changing topics, but Harry was giving him a very stern look, so he shut his mouth quickly.

\- Look Peter, I get how things are being though for you now, really, aunt May was the closest person to you and with all that happened you feel like life is shitty.

Peter didn’t dare to look up to Harry’s eyes, he was afraid he would be able to tell his feelings if he did it. He felt a burning sensation build up in him, it was slowly increasing and pressing him from the inside. He felt a dark voice question Harry’s words: Did he really get it?

Really?

Did he get how life punched him in the gut and took the world from beneath his feet, leaving him dangling in the middle of a suffocating silence and then burned everything to ashes?

Did he get how fucking unfair it was that aunt May, a person who spent most of her life helping people, ended up in bed, her life leaving her body slowly every day, every minute, her mind withering away in an agonizingly slow pace?

Did Harry really get all of that? How twisted he felt inside?

Peter didn’t think so.

\- Life is shittier than ever – he grumbled, forcing the words out, repressing the sudden urge to push Harry away and punch his face.

God, was he always this short tempered?

\- Listen, I’m not saying you should talk to me or Mary Jane, we get that you need... Time to deal with this stuff by your own…

Now that surprised Peter a little. He feared that Harry wanted to talk and try to somehow help him get through whatever he was facing. But Peter knew better, he knew for sure he wasn’t capable of letting his monsters out in front of his friends, equally because of his pride and fear of freaking them out.

\- … But I don’t think being alone is doing you good Peter – Harry emphasized his sentence looking at him and to his mess of a house – actually I don’t think staying here by yourself is doing you any good.

\- What are you saying? – Peter asked with a frown.

Harry fumbled with his pockets then threw something at the small coffee table.

\- You know, after I got older and things got… Busier, I was recommended to pay attention to my mental health more regularly.

It took a while to Peter to get what Harry was trying to say again. He stared to the business card and Harry’s slightly uncomfortable expression back and forth until it clicked in.

He finally answered, his emotions spiking up again.

\- I’m not mentally sick, Harry – his voice colder and more offended than he intended.

\- I know, I’m not saying you are! – Harry answered quickly, trying to avoid the storm about to crash into him – I’m just saying, you don’t need to talk to me or anybody else, but Peter, look how you’re living now, you can’t say this is healthy…

Peter had never heard Harry sound so… Pleading before, but that still wasn’t enough to placate the uproar of his feelings.

\- I’m fine – he practically growled between his teeth.

\- How can you be fine? You’re working yourself to death – Harry exclaimed, his voice raised in worry.

\- What? You want me stay at home and do what? Relax? – Peter answered with bitter sarcasm.

\- You need a break Peter, time to process what happened – Harry said impatiently.

\- Spending the day at home feeling like a useless pile of crap won’t help me – he said feeling his fists itching again to just punch Harry’s face and throw him out of his house.

\- That’s why I’m giving you the card! Don’t you understand you can’t keep it up living like this? – at this point they were both standing right into each other’s face.

\- Don’t you understand that I can only keep it up _because_ I’m living like this? – Peter shout, feeling all his frustration explode out of him.

After a tense silence with their heavy breathing filling the room, both of them refused to look into each other’s face.

\- Just… If you’re feeling really bad just give it a try Peter, please – Harry murmured.

He took his coat and silently made his way to the door. Peter was already feeling terrible for the whole thing. His anger died leaving a sour feeling in his chest.

\- Hey Harry… - he called as his friend opened the door – I-I didn’t mean to… You know… - he continued with an embarrassed shrug.

Harry half turned and Peter could swear he saw Norman Osborn’s tired face in the place of his friend, except it was a softer, gentler expression than Norman’s could never achieve.

\- It’s ok Peter… - he said shaking his head – just… Get help if you really need it ok?

With that he let himself out and Peter went to the door to wave him goodbye.

He closed the door thinking about Harry’s words.

In reality, he just didn’t want to think about anything, he didn’t feel like he needed to face anything.

All that there was to know, he knew. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to change what happened or how life ended up. He didn’t want to change anything or ponder about his life, he didn’t want to consider any future, he just didn’t want to deal with anything right now. He didn’t feel like he had enough space in his mind to do it.

His head was a buzz of storm of feelings and frustrations. More than ever he felt lost, like he was cornered to a dead end but also thrown into the middle of an infinite seamless sea, left to drift apart and sink down and heavy into himself.

It was like his mind and body pulled him into two different directions, his body was so tired, just done with his daily abuse, every muscle screamed for some rest and peace.

But his mind refused to stop, war raged into his head, he couldn’t help but let the red take over him sometimes and all he saw was the unfairness of life.

If there really was an omnipotent being out there why did it let aunt May go this way? Why now? Why her? Just why?

For a while all he could feel were the flames burning his chest, blinding his vision, but then, after all that, his energy turned to cold dead ashes. In the end he always felt uselessly guilty and stupid. His rationality knew there wasn’t anyone to blame. It wasn’t the world’s fault aunt May was gone. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. But he still didn’t find rationality enough in him to smoothly accept that.

He couldn’t help but point fingers at someone, even if this someone was the world and destiny itself. If he didn’t do that, he felt like he could go insane, he was certain that the numbness and hopelessness would come back.

And feeling something, anything, was better than feeling absolutely nothing at all.

Those first weeks were a different kind of hell. He could’ve been a dead vegetable that it wouldn’t have made a single difference, because he felt empty, incapable of any form of empathy, completely devoid of color or life.

Now it was different. The fire built up so quickly and exploded so hard inside him. It may burn him, that was true, but at least it burned everything else with him as well.

Peter felt startled by his own thoughts. He found himself standing next to the front door at the same spot for who knows how long.

A chilling realization creeped down his spine.

MJ and Harry were right. He needed help.

He admitted he wasn’t feeling good under his own skin lately, but he didn’t realize how destructive he had become.

Accepting pain and blind rage gratefully wasn’t him.

Running away and sucking at dealing with his own feelings was definitely him. But not at this extent.

Sighing deeply, he looked over the business card left on the coffee table.

He took it and after staring at it like the thing was going to bite his hand, he grabbed his phone and dialed before he could chicken out.

While he waited, he bounced his legs anxiously up and down, half expecting it to not be picked up.

But before he could panic and hang up a voice politely greeted him.

Stuttering, he found himself saying:

\- Uh… I want to schedule an appointment with Dr. Banner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Peter is not good at dealing with his feelings and has an outburst when confronted about it.  
> There's a lot of anger and just negative feelings and mention of suicide (nothing too heavy), please, bear this in mind if your sensitive to this kind of stuff.


	11. Confronts and Confessions

Peter was bouncing his legs nonstop, he was a serious case of restless legs. The secretary had already casted a few glances at him.

He felt the weight of her judgment, he was definitely not helping himself by behaving like an overly anxious person.

After two weeks waiting for his scheduled appointment (apparently Dr. Banner had a super busy schedule and he got lucky) today he left earlier from work, glad he ended up scheduling his appointment at a lab day not a Bugle day, otherwise it would have been much more difficult to get the absence.

The waiting room was empty and neatly decorated, it was all simple, but elegant-simple. He still felt out of his comfort zone though, this was the doctor _Harry_ recommended him, which meant it would be expensive as hell, but also had bigger chances to be a damn good doctor.

\- Peter Parker? – the secretary called, making him snap out of his thoughts – Dr. Banner is ready to see you.

He sighed and entered the room, feeling his gut twisting and turning inside him.

Dr. Banner was waiting for him seated on his super expensive-looking chair.

Although everything else seemed sophisticated and minimalistic, Dr. Banner looked like a regular person. Worn out glasses on a friendly face, slightly messed curly hair and simple clothes gave Peter a good first impression.

After they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, the real talk started.

\- So, tell me Peter, what’s going on with you?

Dr. Banner’s posture and attitude were relaxed and reassuring.

That didn’t help the fact Peter still felt very nervous and anxious over this whole thing.

\- Well, I’m here under a recommendation of a friend… - he said hesitantly.

\- Do I know the person in question?

\- Uhm… Harry Osborn? – he said, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have brought Harry up, although they were friends, he knew some people changed their attitude towards him after hearing he had connections with the Osborn family.

But apparently Dr. Banner was different.

\- Oh, Oscorp junior! – he said with an affectionate smile – How’s he doing?

\- Good, good, he’s great – Peter said with relief. Sometimes people didn’t even believe they were friends.

\- So, why did Harry recommend me to you, Peter?

Peter squirmed on his seat a little bit and said:

\- Well, he thinks I’m working too much and that I’m overworking myself…

The doctor nodded in understanding, he opened a little notebook and started writing some stuff.

\- And why does he think that?

Peter sighed.

\- I met a common friend and we talked a little about how things are going… I guess she got a little surprised when I told her how much I was working.

\- And how much are you working? – the doctor casually asked, with his eyes still on the notebook.

Peter gulped, feeling a little bit under a magnifying glass.

\- I took extra shifts when I could and worked on some personal projects.

\- May I ask what do you do for a living, Peter?

\- I work at the Stark Industries as a lab assistant and at the Bugle as a freelance photographer.

That made the doctor stop for a minute and look at him curiously.

\- These are two very different fields, aren’t they?

\- I guess – he shrugged. He was used to people questioning his interests.

What could he say? He liked the wonders of science and photography had always been his hobby. He turned out a photographer and working with biochemistry. One plus one equals two.

\- Why these two fields? – the doctor asked while reclining on his chair.

Peter took a little bit of time to answer that one.

\- I’ve always enjoyed studying chemistry. When I got to college, I realized I could work with it. On the other hand, photography filled my free time as a teenager and also helped to pay the bills, I guess I got good at it and ended up working with it.

Dr. Banner hummed in acknowledgment and proceeded.

\- And why take two jobs at once?

Peter was starting to relax, but with that question the conversation would definitely take a turn.

\- Our family was never exactly rich, so as soon as I could, I started helping out.

Dr. Banner wasn’t a fool, he noticed how tense Peter got all of a sudden again.

\- Was that what motivated you to take extra shifts?

Peter’s legs were bouncing up and down again, they were getting close.

\- In a way, yes – he answered in a stiff voice.

Dr. Banner stopped for a moment, dropped the pen and rested his elbows on the table.

\- Peter, do you know why people schedule time with doctors like me? – his voice was serious, but never without the permanent gentle touch it had.

\- To get… Cured? – he tried in an uncertain tone.

The doctor inhaled deeply and thought for a while, then he asked again.

\- Tell me, what do you need to solve an equation, what’s the first thing you need to solve it?

That stunned Peter a little bit, but he answered what came into his mind anyway.

\- Numbers? – he said feeling a little dumb.

Dr. Banner nodded in an affirmation anyway and asked further:

\- And what do the numbers represent? – he insisted.

Peter suddenly had an idea about where this was going.

\- The numbers represent the results of the data collected – he hadn’t felt like this since college. This game of question-answer was always a thing that awoke his competitive feelings.

\- Exactly – said a satisfied Dr. Banner – so what do you think I’m actually talking about here?

Peter reflected for a little bit, by now he could tell he really liked Dr. Banner.

\- I guess you’re telling me there’s no way to solve a problem without sufficient data about it – he said slowly with his mind still working – and with that, that you can’t help me with my problems if I don’t help _you_ by telling you what you need to know.

Dr. Banner simply and patiently smiled.

Peter sighed. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the restlessness and exhaustion suddenly return.

The doctor was right, why the hell did he come here if he wouldn’t be willing to share his personal struggles with not only somebody else, but a professional on top of all.

\- Well – he started, staring at his own hands, intertwined on top of the table – truth be told, I didn’t come here because of Harry, or work or whatever else.

He paused, took a deep breath and finally met Dr. Banner’s stare.

\- I’m here because of my aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is here! \o/  
> I thought a lot about how I would write Peter's session with Bruce, but in the end I opted to leave it out. It's a complicated topic, since there are many methods a Psychologist can use, but I also don't think I have knowledge enough to write about it (people sometimes think it's only talking and prescribing medicine, when I know it's much more by own experience).  
> In the end I guess it fit the story, hope you understand it was not a cliffhanger and I won't describe his sessions with Bruce, maybe before or after them, some exercises and the general process of what Peter is going through, but not their actual talk.


	12. Outbursts and Hangovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's warning time again.  
> Just take a look at the end notes if you want to know what to expect.

Peter left the building feeling lighter than when he came in. And that wasn’t just because he had just paid a little fortune for a single medical appointment, but because talking to Dr. Banner did good to him.

After actually telling him about what happened, how he was feeling and everything he did, he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

It didn’t make his emotional avalanche magically go away, but just the fact of letting someone know how twisted he felt inside, weakened his internal struggles.

On his way home, he reflected about the whole experience and how that was definitely the right choice. He’d have to thank Harry later, because he could feel how much he needed that.

It was going to be a long, hard journey, but Dr. Banner seemed to be the right person to face this with. The man remained calm and collected, always wearing a friendly demeanor, he asked many questions, but it never felt like he was prying, and most importantly, in any moment he mentioned the need for prescriptions or medications.

Exactly as Peter hoped.

After finally getting out of the cab – because although he was feeling better, he didn’t feel capable of spending a single second beside another human being. Which is why he took a cab instead of the bus, although the driver was theoretically a human, he preferred to spend some minutes in the company of a silent grumpy guy, than in the company of many silent grumpy people in the subway.

He was at his doorstep when he heard someone calling his name:

\- Peter! – it was one of aunt May’s old friend, what was her name again? – It’s Ms. Anderson my dear, how are you?

Ah yeah, Ms. Anderson, the old lady who liked to talk more than breathe.

He immediately evoked a fake smile and shook her hand. But she quickly grabbed it and pulled him for a kiss on the cheek.

As most of his aunt’s friends, Ms. Anderson got overly touchy with him and although he got used to it over time, now he found himself struggling to deal with such a thing.

\- I’m fine, thank you Ms. Anderson, what about you? – he prayed she wouldn’t start complaining to him about every and all pain she felt. It was also a habit shared by many old people that he also didn’t feel able to cope with right now.

\- Oh, I just got a knee surgery done and I’m feeling better! The stitches are a bit of a nuisance, but oh, I guess it is a necessary evil – yep, there they were, health issues come to the conversation.

She spent more minutes describing on detail how the surgery went, apologizing for not visiting and then remembering she forgot to bring a little something for the visit and all that.

\- How’s May? Last I heard she came back home to celebrate your birthday – she asked then.

The words completely startled him. He had completely given up on paying attention to her rambling but that made him snap violently back to reality.

What did she mean with that? Didn’t she hear about it?

After a brief silence, tense for Peter, clueless for Ms. Anderson, he slowly answered.

\- She… She passed away right after – the words almost didn’t make out and sounded more like a squeak than English.

Struggling inside to not fall apart on public, he saw the emotions dance on Ms. Anderson’s face. Shock and unbelief, then sadness and sadness.

He wondered if that’s what his face looked like all this time.

\- Oh… I’m sorry my dear – her voice was still tinted with more shock than sadness – I don’t even know what to say – she trailed off wiping small tears from her eyes.

He knew that was the time to invite her inside, offer a glass of water, give her something to properly wipe her tears and have an emotional nostalgic session of memories and pleasant talk.

But he couldn’t bring himself to even move.

He was fighting to not have an outburst in front of this old lady.

But of course, there was a limit to his ability to gulp down his emotions, and before he knew Ms. Anderson was hugging him and saying in a sweet voice:

\- Don’t worry dear, she’s in a better place now, you’ll get over it soon.

He stiffed in the position, her words dropped like bombs to him.

The anger was quick to boil over and just explode inside him.

_Better place? Get over it?_

He didn’t how, but he managed to cut off any possible conversation with Ms. Anderson and shut the door on her face before she could even say a single syllable.

With his fists closed like balls, he felt his feelings overcome his fragile control, and completely destroy the façade he was trying to keep.

Still at the door, he hunched over himself and let all his weight rest on his back, hitting the door with a thud.

A shout of anger was stuck inside his throat, ready to burst out.

His rage was so intense that he felt dizzy from the restraint and his body trembled as the waves washed over him.

How could someone be so disrespectful and just plain rude?

_Get over it?_

He would _never_ get over aunt May for fucks sake! She wasn’t some stupid nuisance that he should get rid of.

Gritting his teeth, he felt furious tears stream down his face.

He tried to blink away the emotions, but it all kept getting blurry and red.

There went his calm mood. He went from the best he got to feel after almost two months to one of the worst meltdowns he had since the funeral.

When he realized how bad his hands were shaking, he remembered Dr. Banner explaining what exactly was an emotional burst and things he could do to calm down.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a very deep, slow breath.

He tried to keep a steady pace of breathing in – hold for a couple of seconds – then let it all out. Slowly but surely, his body started to give in and he could feel some muscles relaxing.

More consciously now, he gave his best to just unclench his jaw, his hands and finally his shoulders.

By now the tears had stopped and although he felt totally destroyed, like a truck had run over his body, he allowed himself to get up and just make an effort to leave the bad space his head was in.

He did as Dr. Banner told him, and made himself busy with something else – not something stressful for the mind and body he emphasized, but something to occupy your hands while letting your mind free – so he looked around and started to grab used plates, dirty clothes and any piece of trash he could find laying around.

For the next hour Peter threw himself into cleaning, his face was still wearing a frown, but after seeing the living room looking clean in weeks, he admitted feeling a little bit better than before.

His body was loudly complaining though and after a quick call to order Thai, he carried his exhausted limbs to the shower.

With the hot water running through his body, Peter was aware he was avoiding the last step of Dr. Banner’s instructions: actually processing his feelings.

Asking himself why did that happen, what made him so upset, what was the trigger?

He sighed, his chest and head still heavy with emotion. It all felt so raw.

His logical side understood he had to think this through, otherwise he wouldn’t get nowhere near overcoming all this shit, but his stupid-teary-angry side kept screaming at him that just thinking about it was bad news.

Just to prove the point a headache installed itself between his temples and grew until all around his head was aching.

It was a true emotional hangover.

Still deliberately avoiding thinking about his emotional state, Peter left the shower, dried himself, got his food and as all other nights, threw himself on the couch and let his mind get swallowed by stupid tv while he munched his food.

Only when he was already in bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt like he was calm enough to deal with his internal struggles without giving into them.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall into the abyss of emotions that was his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter has to deal with a heavy emotion outburst when one a somewhat inconsiderate person approaches him, mainly anger and angst.  
> I'd say it's different from a panic attack, for a lack of an expression, think of it as the representation of the anger stage from the five stages of grief.  
> Some may say he's exaggerating and being melodramatic, but right now he's emotionally raw and I've seen people who faced loss get angry for less.


	13. Beginnings And Attempts

That had been a long, exhausting night.

Peter knew his mind wasn’t exactly at its best emotional balance right now. But he never stopped to consider why.

He always thought it was because he lost aunt May and that was it.

But as he started to ask himself about the whys last night, he realized things weren’t that simple. Nothing was ever simple.

He realized how deep rooted his emotions were, how guilty he felt all the time. It wasn’t pure and violent rage, the anger was just a thing he did to avoid the frustration, guilt and everything else he avoided for this past couple of months.

In the end Dr. Banner was right, pondering about his reasons and trying to understand himself better helped him to get through the heaviness in his chest and mind.

It may not have made the headache go away, but it helped him to rationalize stuff.

Peter wondered for a moment if this was a thing recommended to everyone or just to people like him, who always liked to know the motivations behind everything, always looking for some kind of truth, be it on chemical reactions or while trying to get a decent shot of the political scandal of the week.

Maybe that’s what linked his so called completely divergent interests.

Thank god it was a Saturday and he miraculously didn’t have anything at the Bugle or at the labs.

Normally he would have groaned and found something to distract himself with, but after last night, Peter just wanted a break, he still felt like he was recovering from a particularly bad hangover, so he just sat on the couch while sipping a cup of tea, wrapped in his thick blanket.

The tv was on, but this time he let his mind wander on his newly discovered ability to analyze his shitty life without getting overwhelmed by it.

By afternoon, he was officially done with thinking and starting to feel impatient to just do something. Annoyed, he struggled to maintain his somewhat peaceful vibe.

Then he remembered he actually had friends. He hadn’t talked to MJ or Harry again and he felt like he owned them some kind of feedback.

That’s how he spent his Saturday night texting MJ, catching up, updating her about his routine, how Harry came and told his stubborn ass to grow up and all that.

The replies came in pretty quickly. He figured he got lucky and caught her on a break or something. They talked about her career and how after years of struggle she was finally getting some work. She even sent him some pictures of her room and some backstage stuff.

Peter smiled to the screen, seeing the chocolate croissant half eaten resting on a plate. He was glad he had contacted her. This kind of everyday stuff and being included on it definitely made things better.

After MJ hastily said she needed to get ready for actual acting, he scrolled over his contacts until he got to Harry.

Sighing, he started a conversation apologizing for last time.

He was so stupid to think he could have kept going on the way he was, and Harry even had the trouble of stopping by just to give him a number.

Things went back to normal with Harry as soon as he replied with a short “nah, it’s ok Peter” text.

Then they proceeded to talk about life, Osborn industries and how things were much easier when they were younger.

One of Harry’s best qualities after he actually grew up was his ability to adapt to situations and people.

It was always a pleasant and nice conversation with Harry, he figured out early he could never be Harry’s best friend, although they tried the whole “we get each other and will be bros forever” stuff.

At college the differences started to appear and Peter knew he would never fully get the high society thing going on his friend’s life. No matter how hard he tried, there were some things he just wasn’t able to help with, just as Harry wasn’t able to completely understand how someone had to work two jobs and live in a crappy apartment, juggling responsibilities to pay the bills.

But in the end of the day, they were still friends and as Harry proved the other day, they still cared about each other’s wellbeing, and he guessed that was what it really mattered.

Finishing up his conversation with Harry, his saw his phone was about to die.

Sighing, Peter lazily got up and looked around for his charger. Sure, he cleaned the living room yesterday, but only the living room. The rest of the house was still a mess.

He avoided thinking what would aunt May say if she saw how unkempt everything was, he still didn’t trust himself enough to go down this kind of thoughts.

Then he opened a drawer and saw an unfamiliar phone.

Wade’s phone.

Damn, he completely forgot he even had this thing.

He stared at it, remembering his brief encounter with the man, feeling more agitated as seconds passed by.

Maybe he could see him again if he told him he still had his phone.

But then he would have no means of contacting the man. Unless he somehow created guts enough to ask him for his number himself.

He realized he _really_ wanted to see Wade again by how disappointed he felt when he tried to turn the phone on and the thing was dead as well.

He quickly plugged it in and waited with his restless legs till it charged enough to turn on an actually work.

Then, without thinking, he got to Wade and aunt May’s conversation again and after a minute elaborating something that didn’t sound too desperate, he touched send and waited with his heart on his throat.


End file.
